Let me bid you farewell
by Tanista2
Summary: A tragic accident. A man in a cabin mourns the loss of one good friend. Another pulls him back from the brink. (Domestic Adventures 'verse)
1. so many different worlds

_An AU take on the events of S3 E08, The Widowmaker (a little bit of dialogue adapted from there as well). Jack-centric and without Murdoc._

 _For my dear writing friend and co-author. I hope this is what you're looking for. Happy birthday!_

* * *

 _Loneliness is random; solitude is ritual._ \- Pearl Cleage

Her grave's located on a bluff, presenting a stunning view below of the river cutting a graceful path through the city she called home.

"Fat lot of good it does you, huh Mike?" Holds up a bottle of vodka, pointing it at the gravestone. "Here's to ya, kiddo. Hope you're climbing, now. All the way up to the Pearly Gates."

Takes a long pull, gazes out at the view. "Good thing you never wanted to be buried back in Minnesota, is all I can say," he says softly. "This sure beats the frozen prairie to hell and gone."

Sitting by her grave all night, drinking Stoli and now daylight was coming. Thinking about the dreams that had been plaguing him since the funeral. That had driven him here.

Night after night, seeing the rope give way. Her fingertips barely grazing against his. The astonished look on her face as she disappears from view.

There's an old climbers' saying: It's not the fall that kills you, it's the sudden stop at the end.

Jack Dalton feels like he's falling himself. And hasn't ever stopped.

* * *

He's never considered himself particularly brave. Sneaky, devious and a touch foolhardy, perhaps. More than enough to land him in hot water multiple times over. Yet time and time again he somehow manages to land on his feet.

Heights have never bothered him any. Wouldn't have become a pilot otherwise.

Unlike, say, a certain troubleshooting buddy of his, who bowed out when Michelle Forrester invited them both for a weekend climb in the Colorado Rockies:

"Aw c'mon, Mac. Didn't you say once you were looking for a way to get over that fear of heights? Sure you're not just chickening out on us?"

"Course not, Jack. But with Becky in my life I've got other commitments these days. This weekend's already booked solid."

"Funny. I'd never thought I'd see the day when my good buddy goes all domestic and whatnot on me. Where's your sense of adventure? What happened to that will-o'-the-wisp guy I know and love?"

"He's spending the weekend with about twenty teenagers, chaperoning Becky and the rest of her choir on a retreat. Told her teacher last month I'd help out."

"So babysitting kids takes priority over an outing with your nearest and dearest, huh?"

MacGyver looks a little put out. "C'mon, Jack. If it were any other weekend-"

"And anything other than climbing one of the most dangerous mountains in the Rockies-"

"Aw, it's not like that. I'd love to go climbing with you and Mike. You know that. But I promised Becky; she'd be really disappointed if I backed out now."

"And you wouldn't want to let your princess down."

"...Well, no. Sorry."

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'll tell Mike it's just a party of two this weekend. Go and have fun with Becky and her choir; maybe you'll finally learn to sing. We'll send you a postcard from top of the Widowmaker."

* * *

In retrospect, maybe he should've insisted MacGyver ditch his prior commitment, join him and Mike on one last big adventure.

Maybe Mac would've been able to save her life, in the end.

Certainly not cowardly Jack Dalton, so paralyzed with fear it takes a chopper team to get him off the ledge.

* * *

"Nikki?"

"Yes, Pete?"

"I really hate to ask, but could you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Locate Jack Dalton. Ever since Mike Forrester's funeral he's been on a continuous drunken bender. "

"...Not to be too blunt about it, Pete, but why aren't you asking MacGyver? I barely know the man."

"Under other circumstances I would, but I've got this assignment for Mac and I need him focused. Besides, I'm afraid that if he catches a glimpse of his best friend like this-"

"He might fall into the same guilt-induced trap. And he's got Becky to look after."

"Unfortunately Dalton doesn't have any other family to turn to for support, what with his Uncle Charlie off who knows where and Nelson Davies still locked up in a mental institution. I'm worried that one day soon he'll decide to get in that junk heap of a plane, fly back to Colorado-"

"And crash it right into that mountain," Nikki finishes for him.

"You read my mind. According to Dr. Morgan, MacGyver would be devastated if he lost two of his oldest friends within such a short span of time. He might even be inclined to run off in a fit of guilt, abandoning Becky when she needs him most."

"Three lives ruined for the price of one. The worst kind of bargain." Nikki sighs. "All right, I'll see what I can do. Any instructions for when I find him?"

"Get him as far away from that plane for as long as possible. Until he's ready to face the world clear-headed again. Or at least as much as he ever gets." Pete goes to his desk and pulls out a jangling set of keys. "I've got a cabin in the Sierras, near Ridgemont. Take him there, make sure he has supplies, lock the door."

She takes the keys, though dubiously. "You sure isolation's what Dalton needs? He strikes me as a comfort-loving guy; not inclined towards solitude and asceticism by any means."

"Better that than driving MacGyver to distraction, at least for now."

* * *

Dalton's lying on the ground by Mike Forrester's grave, curled up alongside like a deflated balloon. So pitiful.

Hard to believe this is the same guy known around the Foundation for his wild and crazy antics and get-rich-quick schemes. Nikki finds herself feeling sorry for the poor guy, and at the same time afraid of what he might bring himself to do.

All her years as an agent, and she's not even remotely prepared for this.

She kneels beside the huddled figure, taking his pulse, sighing with relief. Still breathing.

Rests a hand on his trembling shoulder, shaking him gently. "Jack," she says softly.

Red-rimmed eyes stare at her from a gaunt, dirty face, bushy mustache drooping. Straight brown hair- so strange to see it uncovered by that peaked aviator's cap- sticking up in a dozen different directions. Clothing disheveled and filthy.

Looks like he'd put himself through a wringer. She can't help worrying about what he'd be like, all alone in Pete's cabin.

"Mike?" His voice is raw. "That you?"

She sighs. The man's so far gone he's taken her dark hair for Forrester's. "No, Jack. It's me, Nikki Carpenter."

"Nikki? What the hell're you doin' here?"

"Pete sent me to check up on you. Worried you might do something drastic, like fly your plane while drunk and suicidal."

"Knew he liked me after all. Whatta guy." Offers the vodka bottle in a toast, whines when he discovers it empty.

"Dalton. What's going on with you?"

"Leave me alone," he grumbles. "Gotta mourn my friend. My foster sister. My Mike-" Begins sobbing again.

"Hey. It's okay." She reaches out, awkwardly strokes his back.

Slowly he regains some of his control and pulls away from her, looking at the ground, embarrassed. "How'd you know where to find me, anyway?"

"Found a police report on you, from a nearby saloon. Drunk and disorderly. After the bartender refused to serve you any more alcohol, you'd gotten hold of somebody's revolver, threatened bodily harm, then split out the back door when the cops arrived."

Dalton grimaces. "Aw, hell. Not my finest hour. I probably scared the crap out of him."

"You did, but Pete managed to smooth it over. You're all right now though, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." He stands slowly, looking down at his wet, disheveled clothes. He's starting to shake from the cold. "Tip-top shape, you betcha."

"Well, to me you look more like something the cat coughed up." He gives her a dirty look but she doesn't miss a beat. "And you're freezing. You need hot coffee, a hot shower and some sleep. Then I'm supposed to take you to Pete's cabin. His orders."

"Aw, c'mon. Does Poppa Thornton really think I'm that much a menace to society?"

"Jack-" She allows a hard edge to come into her voice, similar to her arguments with MacGyver.

Men, really. So irrational. No wonder the world's as screwed up as it is.

"Yes ma'am," Jack says meekly. "Just need a minute."

"Sure." Nikki starts walking down the path toward the car. Hears a soft sob behind her.

Dalton's standing so still, looking down at the grave and wiping his eyes.

"I love you too, Mike. Sorry I didn't tell you in person."

* * *

Nikki drives away with a wave a couple days later, leaving Jack alone with just himself, his misery, and two cardboard boxes' worth of cheap food and liquor, purchased from Ellard at the general store.

Perfect.

Pete's cabin is a pretty basic affair. A boxy, board-and-batten structure, about fifteen feet wide and roofed with shakes. A porch stretching along the front, a Kennedy rocker and an Adirondack chair flanking a curtained window and the front door.

Inside there's a small living area, kitchen, and adjacent room barely big enough for a queen-size bed and chest of drawers. Knotty pine furniture. Rag rugs. Riverstone hearth. Rudimentary electricity and plumbing. Quaint in an almost-get-back-to-nature sort of way.

The whole place evokes a feeling of isolation simply by what it lacks- no telephone, no radio, no TV.

Miles away from an airport, to boot.

The darkening late-afternoon sky and the autumn chill in the air reminds him of more immediate needs. A fire in the hearth with logs from the generous stack of wood outside sets the room aglow. The practical business of unpacking and sorting supplies keeping his fears at bay.

Saturday night. Ordinarily he'd be curling up on the couch at MacGyver's place, with his best friend nearby and Becky sitting between them, a big bowl of popcorn on her lap. Pop _The Shining_ into the VCR, watch Jack Nicholson isolated at the Overlook Hotel, slipping slowly into a menacing madness. Giggle whenever Becky shrieks and tucks her head against her uncle at the really scary or gross parts.

Instead he eats canned chili with crackers and feed enough logs into the fire for the flames to take on a brilliant life of their own. Outside the wind gains speed.

He hates being in the wilderness, unless it's to hunt for buried treasure or pan for gold in a mountain stream. So why the hell did he agree to Pete's suggestion, take a self-imposed sabbatical away from the city, away from his beloved plane?

An irrational need to be in the air arises. Fly off to Colorado, die in a blaze of glory on the Widowmaker. Just like the fire.

Just like Mike-

He quickly clamps the thought down, hard.

Pete's right, he'd be a flying menace in his condition right now. Best to stay grounded for a while.

He stares into the darkness outside a long time, the fire flickering amber on his reflection in the glass. The cabin seems to creak a bit, nestling closer to the earth for the night.

Hard at first to identify other sounds, unveiled as they are by the eternal white noise of city traffic. Is that mice nibbling in the kitchen? An owl cooing in the trees? A gust of wind blowing stray pine needles against the roof?

He pulls a faded, creased photo out of his jacket. Himself, Mac and Mike back in the day, pointing and laughing at something off camera.

The Three Musketeers, forever sundered.

* * *

"Hey, Mike?"

"Yes, Jack? Is there a problem?"

"Oh, nothing. Just hanging around down here, you know. Not a foothold in sight."

"Yes, there is. Think up. Waist high, over to your left about three feet. There's a good hold. See it?"

"Yeah, I see it."

"Just pull yourself up. That's it. You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Oh sure, having the time of my life."

"That's it, keep going. Good, there you are. Nice job, Jack."

He huffs and puffs his way onto the ledge. "Hey, piece of cake. Bet MacGyver would've loved this, if he hadn't been roped into chaperoning a bunch of teenagers this weekend."

Mike chuckles. "Come on over here. We'll do lunch. How's he doing with Becky, by the way? First time I met her was after you guys rescued me in Dinoto. Nice kid, but it sure surprised me when he took her in after Allison died."

"You and me both. Never thought Mac was really the surrogate-father type, but there ya go." He wipes chalk dust off his hands before accepting his bacon sandwich. "They're doing okay, all things considered. She's a real sweetheart, you know? Keeps him grounded. Speaking of which, thanks for hanging on to me back there."

"Anytime, Jack. You know, I've spent half my life hanging on to you."

An awkward silence.

"Oops. She's getting suggestive, and he's getting uncomfortable."

"Mike, we've been friends a long time. And you're my foster sister, to boot. Don't tell me you've developed a crush on me when I wasn't looking or anything."

"Maybe I have, over the years." She says it softly. "Maybe I'm tired of one night stands, and relationships that don't go anywhere. I want more, and not from someone else."

"From me? C'mon, I'm dopey Jack Dalton! Fly-by-night ladies' man. And you're one of my best friends. You and Mac, ever since Mission City. C'mon, we're the Three Musketeers! We've always been there for each other. Isn't that the most important thing?"

She sighs. "You are a big dope, aren't you? All those women in your life and you never learned a thing about relationships. Can't appreciate what's right under your nose."

"Mike, it's not like that. You just threw me for a loop, is all-"

"Look, forget about it. I mean, no sense in ruining a beautiful friendship, right?" She briskly stashes her lunch away, grabs for the dangling rope. "We'd better get going, Gotta make Widow's Ledge and Broomstick Crack before we lose light."

"But Mike-"

"No time for chit-chat. Clip in, I'm on belay."

"Hey, wait a minute-"

"Belay on."

"...Climbing."

"Climb on."

Then before he has time to register the rope gives way. He makes a grab for her hand but narrowly misses, the mere brush of her fingertips against his before she's gone forever.

"Mike? Mike!"

Jack wakes up screaming in the night, her name on his lips.

And a ton of regret in his heart.

* * *

Time passes. How long, he doesn't know. And honestly doesn't care.

One morning Jack cracks an eye open. Finds himself slumped halfway off the couch, a puddle of his own drool staining the faded fabric.

Somewhere outside the cabin birds sing and squirrels chatter, just like any other day.

He sighs, thinks about making himself breakfast for once. Bacon, eggs, toast. Or at least corn flakes with milk.

Finds himself retching at the idea of solid food, reaching for the half-empty bottle of tequila on the coffee table instead.

Blessed liquid oblivion. Takes away all the pain, or at the very least dulls it just enough to endure another day without Mike.

Without the woman he could've been happy with for the rest of his life, the only one who understood him and accepted him for what he was. If only he'd just let himself love her.

If only.

* * *

Another morning. Jack sits straight up in bed, blinking sleep away. Head's clear for the first time in days and he's _starving._

Hunts for a late breakfast, only to discover crumbs and nibbled corners. The mice must've gotten to the whole stash.

(Either that, or he didn't buy as much solid food as he had alcohol. He can't seem to remember that far back.)

Also discovers Nikki locked him in the cabin, took the keys with her. The nerve. She won't be back to pick him up until next Monday, either.

Fortunately he finds the spare key on a bookshelf, lets himself out.

The darn woman took the car, too. And it's a good day's walk to the general store and back.

To distract his rumbling stomach, he walks around the cabin, to the back door. Finds spare fishing rods and tackle left over from the last time Mac came up this way.

The guy goes fishing all the time. How hard can it be, to catch a couple trout?

* * *

Problem is, MacGyver makes everything look so darn easy. Including catching lousy, uncooperative fish.

And he's still so blasted hungry.

He could go hunting for mushrooms and other edible stuff in the woods, but without Mac around to tell the difference he wouldn't know what's safe and what might kill him on the spot.

(He may be foolhardy but he's not feeling suicidal. Not any more.)

It's a nice day, though. Pretty surroundings, Jack has to admit that much.

He stands up from sitting for a whole hour on the dock, stretches. Supposes he has Pete to thank for granting him this peace and quiet.

The fish weren't biting, but he was able to get some serious thinking done, despite his empty belly. About relationships, past and present.

Time to reconnect with a few ladies, maybe. Like sweet Katie, from the Wingman Bar. Wonder what she's doing these days-

A roaring sound comes from overhead, sending the birds on the water scattering.

Jack automatically looks up, catches sight of an aircraft as it passes above him. Cessna 185 Floatplane, a real sweet ride just like his own. Better condition, though.

The Cessna slowly veers east; his body automatically leans in the same direction, out over the edge of the dock.

God, he can just taste sitting in that cockpit, with the freedom to fly wherever he wanted. Just himself and the clouds. Holds out his arms, as if reaching for the control yoke-

Loses his balance, falling into the lake with a loud splash.

Flails around, because geez, what a time to remember he has no idea how to swim. Always refused to- even growing up in Minnesota, land of ten thousand lakes. Preferred dreaming about the sky to splashing about in the water, with god-knows-what lurking underneath to bite at his toes.

(Not Mac and Mike, though. They were fearless, especially Mike. God, he wanted to be so much like her sometimes.)

The water closes over his head. He fights for the surface, clearing his mouth as he does, only to have his throat fill with water as he tries to breathe inches too soon.

He's not giving up completely, but soon realizes it's futile anyway, what with his sodden clothing dragging him down, into the murky depths.

Gradually Jack feels his limbs growing sluggish and unresponsive. Death from hypothermia soon, if not from asphyxiation first. Can't even get enough breath to cry for help.

One last thought before the darkness closes over him for good.

 _Save a place for me in front of St. Peter, Mike. I'm right behind you._


	2. so many different suns

MacGyver wonders if he's been sent on a wild-goose chase. Not for the first time, where Jack Dalton is concerned.

But leave it to his niece to drag him out of his post-funeral stupor with a simple question:

"Jack was her best friend too, wasn't he?"

"Sure, Becky. We were all pretty tight, growing up in Mission City. Especially after Mike's mom Ruth adopted Jack. Allison nicknamed us the Three Musketeers, and Jack was so pleased with it the name stuck."

"I know you miss her a lot, Unc. And I'm sure Jack does, too. Neither of you should be mourning in solitude, not when you're both hurting so much."

"So what do you want me to do about it? If he wants to be left alone in his grief-"

"That's the problem, Unc. I have a feeling he shouldn't be, like he really needs you, or will pretty soon. Pete knows where he is, right?"

"Well, yeah. I think he mentioned having Nikki drive Jack up to his cabin last week."

"Then that's where you need to go. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."

"But Beck-"

She rests a gentle hand on his arm, blue eyes full of a compassion and understanding well beyond her fifteen years. "No buts about it. Nobody's fine on their own, Unc. People need people. Go, be with Jack for as long as you need to. Get his head straight. And yours, too."

"If you're sure about this-"

"I'm sure. And tell him," she adds with a slightly impish smile, "I really miss our Saturday Movie Nights, that oughta get his attention. Then bring him home, to folks who care about him."

"Don't know what I did, to deserve you," he finally sighs, ruffling her hair. "What would I do without you in my life, huh?"

"Be an awful lot lonelier," she soberly replies. "And maybe you'd be in Jack's place, instead, and someone else would have to drag you back to life."

He figures she's probably right, all things considered.

* * *

So now here he is, at Pete's cabin way up in the Sierras. After driving on some terrible logging roads and almost blowing a tire.

If this is some perverse cosmic joke- if he's just lounging on the front porch, drinking beer or something-

But the cabin is empty.

Mac jogs down to the lake, scanning the shore. There- a familiar stocky figure, bobbing erratically in the waves.

What's Jack doing in the water? He never was much of a swimmer-

"Oh god, no," he pleads, running to the dock. Stripping off shoes and jacket then diving into the cool water. Driven by an adrenaline rush of fear he quickly reaches Jack, getting a rescuer's hold on him before towing him back to shore, all without knowing whether his friend was still alive.

He's completely limp in Mac's arms. No way to tell if he's even breathing.

With a grunt he heaves Jack onto the deck, then pulls himself up, resting his head briefly against the weathered wooden planks before checking out his friend.

No sign of respiration but there's a pulse- faint but there, a light beat against his fingertips.

Thank god.

Wasting no time, MacGyver begins applying mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, interspersed with rhythmic pushes on his chest. "C'mon Jack, don't do this to me! First Mike, now you. Can't lose you both."

There's a sudden movement beneath him. Jack begins to splutter and cough; Mac turns him over onto his side, rubbing his back until all the water's emptied out of his lungs. Before long he's able to breathe freely again.

"Easy, now. Just lie still. Don't move yet."

"Mac?" he rasped. "What're you doing here?"

"Saving your life again, what else? C'mon now, relax. Feeling better yet?"

"Yeah."

"Don't lie to me. You're still shivering. And you lost weight, too. What have you been doing, starving yourself?" Recovers his discarded jacket, draping it around Jack as he sits up, keeping his arm around his shoulders. "Let's rest here a couple minutes, then head back to the cabin. Get you warm and dry, then something solid to eat. Okay?"

Jack angrily shrugs the arm off. "Dammit Mac! Stop fussing. I'm all right."

"Not how it looked to me. What the heck were you doing in the water, anyway? You know you can't swim. Have you gone completely nuts on me?"

"I got distracted, fell in the water. That's all there was to it."

"That's not my point! You almost drowned. What if I hadn't come along when I did, huh?"

"Then I guess I would've been in trouble."

The flat, matter-of-fact tone sends a chill down Mac's spine. This was not his happy-go-lucky, outrageous friend talking. Someone with a death wish, perhaps.

Someone like himself, deep into mourning. If he didn't have Becky to keep him grounded, he might've been the one willing to drown.

The thought sends another shiver down his spine.

Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, he reaches for his shoes, then stands up. "Jack, I'm freezing my tail off here. We can talk once we get inside."

"Don't wanna talk," Jack says churlishly, swaying, nearly falling back to his knees.

A firm arm around his back keeps him upright. "Then I'll talk and you listen. Geez, can't leave you alone these days without you getting into trouble, huh? C'mon, let's get outta here."

Without another word the two men shuffle back to the cabin, dripping trails of water along the way.

* * *

After a hot shower and change of clothes Jack slumps at the kitchen table, mouth sullenly drawn, shaking his head at the mug of steaming, fragrant dark liquid placed in front of him.

"Jack, drink it already. Do you good."

His nose wrinkles as the mug is nudged closer.

"Jack-"

"Don't wanna."

MacGyver sighs heavily. "Okay, whatever. It's been a long day and I'm too tired to argue. Just tell me what's going on with you."

"Nothing to tell."

"Don't give me that garbage! I've known you too long for that."

"Then you oughta know when to back off. What're you doing here, anyway?"

"Other than making sure you haven't burned Pete's cabin to the ground?" Mac collapses in the chair opposite him, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. "Would you believe Becky sent me? She had a feeling something bad was gonna happen if I didn't find you. Wouldn't stop pestering me, until I finally gave in."

"Persistent, huh? Runs in the family."

"Yeah. Plus, she reminded me of something the other day. Something I'd pretty much forgotten about, lately."

"What's that?"

Mac shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "You know me, Jack. Never asking anyone else for help, feeling I've got no right to burden them with my problems. What didn't occur to me until Becky brought it up, though, was the fact you guys might not mind sharing the burden in the first place. She reminded me that friendship's a two-way street, sharing the bad times with the good. Same as what she and I do for each other, as family."

"Smart kid." Jack takes a good long look at the taller man seated across from him, dismayed by the signs of fatigue and worry. "Looks like she sent you up here for another reason, too. When was the last time you slept, compadre?"

"Been a while," Mac confesses. "Not properly since Mike's funeral, anyway."

"Me neither." Slumping with his own weariness, Jack looks away, not knowing what to say. The fact of their friend's absence makes the silence grow heavier between them.

Finally Mac clears his throat. "Losing Mike like that- at least she didn't die climbing that rock face alone. Keep thinking that if only I'd been with you guys, then maybe-"

Jack waves him silent. "Hey, Mac. What's done is done, you know? God knows I've been shouldering the blame enough for both of us lately, and pretty hard, too."

"You? But it wasn't your fault, Jack. Sheer accident, that's all it was. The rope snapped due to fatigue, you weren't to blame."

"Yeah, my head knows that. But you see, she'd told me on that ledge she wanted to pursue more of a serious relationship with me." Mac's eyebrows rise. "Hard to believe, right? Yours truly, lovable ladies' man Jack Dalton, fancy-free charmer. So wrapped up in myself I didn't even notice when she was actually proposing. Maybe she was too distracted by my brush-off to notice the rope was frayed, you know?"

Brings himself to take a sip of coffee. Not bad, if getting lukewarm.

"Thing is, if I'd thought about it, really thought about what she was telling me, I would've said yes."

"You think it would've made that much of a difference?"

"Well, maybe not. But at least she'd have died happy, knowing someone loved her as more than a friend. But enough about me. Care for some hard-earned advice?"

Mac shrugs, reaches for his own mug. "Sure, why not."

"I'm a loner, and that probably won't change. But you've got a chance. You and Nikki."

Mac nearly spits out the mouthful of tea. "Jack, that's crazy! Me and Nikki? C'mon. You know how much we fight?"

"Sure. Just like the couples on TV. The ones with great chemistry fight all the time to hide their romantic feelings for each other."

"That dip in the lake must've scrambled your brain." Mac snorts, shakes his head. "Me and Nikki. The very notion's ridiculous."

"Well, whatever. All I'm saying is, don't get so caught up in your own idea of things that you wind up missing out on love when it's knocking your door down. Know what I mean?"

"Not really," Mac grumbles. "Jack, don't you think it's time to leave here soon? Join the land of the living?"

"Join what part of it, exactly? My wreck of a plane, my wreck of a life? Always living on the edge of poverty, barely enough to scrape together to afford rental space for the plane, not to mention keep her flying? All sorts of questionable smuggling jobs? No one in my life, except a friend whom I only pester when I need help with a scheme or to haul my fat outta the fire? You mean all that crap?"

Mac winces, and he does, too. A bit harsh for an assessment, even if pretty accurate.

"Be grateful you've got somebody at home who loves you and you can love back, all I can say." Jack drains the rest of the cup, stands up, albeit a trifle unsteadily. "My head's killing me and I've had enough. I'm going to sleep in an actual bed. Help yourself to the couch- plenty comfy, I should know. See you in the morning."

Stumbles off to bed, achingly aware he needs more than a cup of cold coffee to sustain himself. But too damn tired to turn around and submit to MacGyver's tender ministrations.

Sleep is the only thing that makes sense, right now.

* * *

A pan rattles the next morning, clattering on the floor. A yelp of pain.

Jack pulls himself awake, after a blissful dream of flying. Blearily looks around him.

Still at the cabin, though maybe not for much longer. For some reason, he feels pretty good.

Stuffs his feet in dry sneakers, stumbles towards the kitchen.

MacGyver's cooling his burn under cold running water. Turns, smiles faintly.

"Morning, Jack. How d'you like your eggs?"

"Am I delirious? Thought the cupboards were bare, after the mice got into all the food."

"Nope, not delirious. Brought groceries with me, one of Becky's suggestions."

"Now that girl knows how to think ahead. Just like your sister."

"She does, doesn't she," Mac agrees with a touch of pride in his voice. Nods at the empty bottles in the trash. "You've certainly had your share of liquid nourishment for the week. Feel up to eating real food today?"

Jack blinks. It's taking a while to kick into high gear. "Yeah, I...guess so."

"Good. Breakfast coming right up."

Eggs break into one skillet, bacon sizzling in another. Coffee percolates in a pot. Toast pops up out of a machine.

Jack soon finds himself at the kitchen table, loaded plate in front of him, coffee cup full and properly steaming.

Takes a sip of dark, hot, fragrant liquid. A bite of bacon, just the right amount of smokiness. Sunny-side-up, the yolk breaking apart, soaking the toast underneath in golden eggy goodness.

Perfect. He devours the whole plate.

"Guess you weren't hungry, huh?" Mac smirks at him. "Feeling better now?"

He nods, mouth full of the last piece of toast. Oh, yeah. Feeling a whole lot better now.

Once he's on a second cup of coffee Jack's up to asking his friend a question. "Mac, you seek solitude in the wilderness a lot, don't you? Mountains, deserts, even the sea."

"Maybe not as much these days with Becky around, but sure."

"You ever find yourself sulking over the mistakes you've made when alone, the missed opportunities?"

Mac sighs, rubs the back of his neck. "You know me and guilt, Jack. Course I do. But the way I figure it, if I have the courage to spend time alone and face my fears, then I'm already doing something right. Know what I mean?"

Jack actually does, thinking about Mike, about all the poor choices he's made lately. They've become forgivable because he's stepped back from the familiar, paying attention for once in his life. The enforced solitude- and his best friend pulling him back from the brink of drowning- gives everything a new perspective.

He's lonely sometimes, sure. (Who isn't these days, really?) But that's not necessarily a bad thing. He can fly solo or with a co-pilot, whenever he chooses. It's okay either way.

That knowledge makes all the difference.

* * *

They spend the day and another night at the cabin, swapping stories about their shared childhood. All the crazy antics Mike tricked them into doing with her. The wild trips they took together after high school- Papantla, Martinique, Barbados, Singapore, Fresno. Their divergent paths thanks to Vietnam, and after college (Mike becoming a botanist, of all things, when he'd thought for sure she'd become a journalist). The last time they were all together, that rescue in Dinoto.

Good times. A lot of laughter mixed in with occasional tears.

Somehow he's sure Mike's still there with them, in spirit.

The loss doesn't hurt quite so much now. Or at least there's the potential for healing.

* * *

Monday morning. Back into the fray.

They clean up the cabin after a skillet-scramble breakfast, pack Jack's meager belongings into the jeep. Already time begins to take on a more frenzied pace.

"Nice day, huh?"

"Sure is. Time to head home?"

"Indeed. Once more unto the breach, my good fellow." He says it in a mock-British accent and MacGyver laughs.

"Jack Dalton, crazy as ever."

"And you wouldn't have it any other way."

They descend into the valley and turn onto the highway. Jack reaches over to fiddle with the radio, twirling the dial to land on a local classic rock station.

Dire Straits. Brothers in Arms. Perfect.

A sign from Mike, he's sure.

Everything's gonna be all right.


End file.
